spun twine [little bill day 1]

little bill cubs

He doesn’t see him leave.

Hours have passed since Absalom held his hand as he drifted, but the sun’s still high and heavy. It stifles him, hardens his breath. He thinks he still feels his hand slid in his own, but the memory is a ghost, he knows. At least it’s friendly.

Little Bill pushes upright and leans on one elbow. His whole aches all over, a stiff hand lifting to stroke his wide open cheek, but something catches his eye -

the bracelet. He smiles, then winces, and smiles again. He looks closely at the little hearts lining its length, and repeats the cycle. Being joyous on his last day of life seems like the universe’s way of spitting on his undug grave, waiting till it’s over to let him feel warm and full. Waiting till the end, like he was the punchline of a long, painful joke.

He forces himself up, onto his neon orange platform shoes, and starts to walk.




trapping a termite roll
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